A friar who glides unnoticed to the grave,
With these bare feet, coarse robe and rope-girt waist,—
I have long since renounced your world, ye know:
Yet what forbids I weigh the prize foregone.
The worldly worth? I dare, as I were dead,
Disinterestedly judge this and that
Good ye account good: but God tries the heart.
Still, if you question me of my content
At having put each human pleasure by,
I answer, at the urgency of truth: